


Chasing the Moon

by HoshiHikari



Series: Chasing the Moon series [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: F/M, I have no idea how to tag, M/M, Oikawa bein' flirty, Sad backstory but lots of fluff, Teen Romance, Tsukishima being bad at feelings, Yamaguchi knows all, no beta we die like men, poor baby he's trying tho, slow burn sorta, so here we go, there's ballet if that matters to you
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-12 17:22:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28764012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HoshiHikari/pseuds/HoshiHikari
Summary: Childhood friends. Next-door neighbors. Classmates.Naomi and Kei are a lot of things. But mostly, they're a ballet dancer with a sad past and a teenage boy with trust issues and no motivation.Oh, and they've been secretly in love with each other for years. There's also that.
Relationships: Tsukishima Kei/Original Character(s)
Series: Chasing the Moon series [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2108856
Kudos: 1





	1. Overture

She has always been a creature of the night.

This, Tsukishima Kei knows. He knows because after all these years by her side, in the shadows of her stagelight, waiting patiently in the wings, he has learned that she is a flower which blooms best in moonlight.

Under the blazing moon of a spotlight. Dancing the final scene as Odette.

That is the moment he fell in love with her.

* * *

It begins, every day, at 6:30 in the morning.

~.~

Kei is always on his way to volleyball practice. Naomi is always on her way to morning practice at the studio. They make eye contact every day, she waves, he nods, and they go their separate routes.

He spends the hours just after dawn doing drills with his team, working up a sweat against the chilly, spring air, rehearsing strategies and choreographed plays with his team. 

She spends those hours alone in a dance studio a few miles from home, rehearsing steps she almost certainly won’t have any other time to practice before the evening rehearsal with the company. 

By the time class starts, he has shed his gym clothes and sneakers and she her leotard and pointe shoes, and they are sitting side by side in a college preparatory course at Karasuno High. 

At lunch, they do not push their desks together. Instead, Yamaguchi and Naomi chat over their packed lunches, trading snacks and gossip, while Kei reads a book, picks at his food, and pretends not to be listening to the conversation.

Once again, after school, they part ways. Kei to practice, and Naomi to rehearsal. While he spikes and serves and blocks and receives, she pirouettes and jetes and plies and tondues.

By the time darkness has fallen, they are always exhausted and sore, and waiting to see each other on the way home.

~.~

This is the daily life of one Tsukishima Kei and Hashimoto Naomi: childhood friends, high school classmates, and next door neighbors.

* * *

Tsukishima yawns, groaning at the time. 5:30 am.

After the same routine for years and years, you’d think he’d be used to it, but he’s not. Well, soon enough summer break will begin, and maybe then practice will be at a later time. Maybe.

Probably not.

He turns over to shut off the stupid alarm clock and begin his day, looking out his window, bleary-eyed. That’s when he notices that her bedroom is still dark. She had a late rehearsal last night. It must’ve messed with her sleep clock.

 _Well, she’s going to have a rushed morning,_ he can’t help but think with a small, inner wince.

And with that, Tsukishima gets up to begin his day.

* * *

Naomi sighs as she leaves her house. No breakfast today, that’s the price to pay for waking up a half hour late.

As usual, she sees Kei waiting for her by the tree separating their houses. She smiles a little; that tree has served as a connecting line between her bedroom window and his for longer than she can remember. When they were younger, they would visit each other in secret by climbing through each other’s windows via that tree, bypassing what was the well-intentioned but time-consuming interactions with each other’s parents. (Mothers, namely.)

In recent years, that habit has stopped. Now, it’s their unspoken meeting ground, a shared space.

A subtle and longstanding landmark of their friendship.

“Mom says to come over for dinner tonight,” Kei says, and Naomi nods, smile stretching even wider.

“Will do. I’ll come over straight from rehearsal. It shouldn’t run too long since we just finished the spring show.”

And then he reaches into his book bag and throws a paper-wrapped package at her. She catches it, confused. It smells like-

“Akiteru left early, so there was an extra.”

Naomi begins to unwrap the package. Breakfast sandwich.

“Thank you, Kei,” she murmurs.

He nods, and they part ways.

* * *

“Gather round!”

The team, sweaty from a brutal receiving practice, forms a bit of a lopsided circle. Takeda-sensei approaches them, seemingly with an announcement. In the back of his mind, Tsukishima wonders what it could be, but he’s more occupied with the unpleasant feeling of sweat all over his lower back. Stupid receives.

“Ah… so, Coach Ukai and I have been talking,” Takeda starts, and the team’s hum of noise dies down. “We’ve noticed a lot of strained leg muscles and injuries both here at Karasuno and in other teams that we’ve been communicating with. So we’ve decided to hire a special trainer for the issue.”

This gets Tsukishima’s attention. _Special trainer?_

“Do you think they’re bringing in a physical therapist or something?” Yamaguchi whispers, and Tsukishima shrugs.

“Now, bear with me,” Takeda continues. “This might sound a little strange. But, two times a week, for morning practice, I’ve enlisted you all in basic ballet training.”

Now, the explosion.

“Ballet?!?”

“What’s that supposed to do?”

“Do we have to buy new materials?”

“Where are we gonna do ballet?”

“Why ballet?”

Daichi holds up his hand, and there is peace again, tenuous as it is.

“Why ballet?” Daichi asks, repeating the question on everyone’s behalf.

“Well,” Ukai begins, “ballet with its flexibility training and focus on the lower body in early stages has proven useful for preventing injuries in sports. This is an unconventional method; but some American football teams have started to take it up. If this works as it’s meant to, it will increase our balance, coordination, flexibility, and footwork.”

“That said, we need your cooperation. The manager of the studio has been kind enough to offer the classes at a discounted rate, so we expect you all to be on your best behavior. We know it’s not exactly what you were expecting, but if you respect the instructor as a trained athlete and put your all into it, then I think you’ll get more out of it than you expect,” Takeda finishes. 

Tsukishima wrinkles his nose, not because he’s opposed to dance. Well, he’s a little opposed. But more than that, Naomi will never let him live it down. Ever.

“Will we need new equipment?” someone asks.

“No, the instructor has informed us that all you’ll need for class is basic training gear. Oh, and you might want to bring a thinner pair of socks. We’ll be meeting at the Martha Graham Ballet Studio at…”

_You have got to be kidding me._

“Isn’t that Nao-chan’s ballet studio?” Yamaguchi whispers, and Tsukishima nods, slowly. “Maybe we’ll get to see her in the mornings for her rehearsals!”

“What a pain,” Tsukishima mutters as the team is dismissed, and Daichi shoots him a deathly glare.

“Ballet! Spinning! Do you think we’ll learn how to jump like they do?” Hinata asks, ever the mindless ball of excitement. _How can he possibly be excited about this?_

“Maybe they’ll teach us how to lift people into the air!” Noya shouts, and Asahi chuckles, uneasy.

“Noya, I think being lifted into the air sounds scary… ”

“Are we gonna have to do the splits? That seems pretty impossible,” Sugawara laughs, awkwardly. Surprisingly, Suga is one of the least flexible on the team.

“Best to go in with an open mind. They can’t possibly ask us to do anything too crazy, right? It’s supposed to be for physical training, not torture,” Daichi replies as the team enters the club room.

Tsukishima winces at this. _If Naomi’s feet are any indication..._

“Well, I guess we’ll find out tomorrow morning.”

* * *

“You want me to _what_?”

“Teach a boys volleyball team. Yes, I know it sounds unconventional.”

Naomi’s eyes nearly fly out of her head. Her? Train a sports team?

“But why me? I’m the youngest instructor on staff,” she asks her studio manager, Kioshima.

“You’re the only one who’s available in the early mornings. Besides, you may be the youngest instructor, but you’re also the most experienced. After all, in Tokyo-”

“Tokyo was different. I was performing then. Shima-san, these boys might eat me alive,” Naomi says, groaning.

“It’ll be fine. Their advisor … Takeda-san, I think, has promised that the team is open-minded. Besides, you’ll be paid, of course. The usual hourly basis for basic instruction of a full class. We’ve offered them a discount since they...”

But Naomi’s ears seem to stop working, as questions race through her mind

_Which volleyball team? What if they’re high school students? What if I know some of them? We’re the only large ballet studio for miles, it could be Aoba Johsai, Shiratorizawa, Okama High-_

“... and you’ll be starting them at the basics. One-hour sessions, three times a week,” Kioshima finishes. Naomi takes a breath, trying- and failing- to find the positive angle of this situation.

“When do their classes start?” she asks.

“Tomorrow morning. They’re slotted for 7-8, so during your usual practice time. Tuesdays and Thursdays.”

Naomi steels herself, and her boss gives her an encouraging smile.

“I’ll be here if you need me. Obviously, I can’t help with the training. I wish I could. But you’re capable. I know you’ll do fine,” Kioshima says.

Naomi sighs, taking another deep breath.

“...okay. How … how many of them are there again?”

* * *

Besides the ballet-class-bomb being dropped on them during morning practice, Tsukishima’s morning continues as usual. He finishes practice, walks to class with Yamaguchi, and rolls his eyes as Naomi dashes in just before the bell, her cheeks flushed as if she’d run all the way from the studio to the classroom.

“Nao-chan! Nice timing,” Yamaguchi whispers to her as she collapses into her seat.

Tsukishima doesn’t turn away from his book, but he steals a glance out of the corner of his eye.

_Her hair is still up in a ballet bun. She must have lost track of time again._

Just as he’s about to look away, Naomi looks up at him, catching his eye. She smiles softly, mouthing a quick “morning” before turning away to take out her school supplies.

Tsukishima turns his attention back to his book, willing his mind to focus on the words and stop replaying her smile like the melody of a scratched record.

~.~

“Did you hear about what happened with that second-year English teacher?” Yamaguchi asks.

Tsukishima’s ear perks up at this. He couldn’t care less about the various goings ons of teen drama, student love lives, and the like, but gossip involving teachers is usually more interesting.

“No, I didn’t. What happened?” Naomi asks, leaning forward in her seat, her chopsticks poised in the air as Yamaguchi smirks at her knowingly. It must be some pretty juicy gossip. Tsukishima hasn’t seen Yamaguchi look that smug since the third-year history teacher accidentally passed out the answer key of the math teacher’s final exam, an incident which has since been dubbed “Exam-gate”. 

Not the most creative name, in Tsukishima’s opinion, but the third years at the time were studying American politics.

“Well, apparently some students in the newspaper club have an agreement with the English teacher to use his classroom for extra storage space. Last week, they were dropping some materials off in his storage cabinet when they found _an entire moving box of adult magazines!_ ” Yamaguchi murmurs excitedly. 

Tsukishima doesn’t manage to school his amused smirk when Naomi chokes on a mouthful of rice.

“What idiot would keep those kinds of things in a classroom?” she asks incredulously, reaching towards her bag for a bottle of water. Her fingers don’t quite reach, and out of instinct, Tsukishima finds himself grabbing the water for her and handing it to her. 

For a moment, Naomi blinks at him, as if surprised he’d been paying attention, before she offers him a smile and a small “thank you”, turning back to Yamaguchi.

Tsukishima looks at his hand- the one that passed her the drink- and considers it carefully.

 _Traitor_.

“Yeah, so anyway, he’s been suspended from work for a few weeks. Oh, that reminds me, Nao-chan, you work at the Martha Graham Ballet Studio, right?” Yamaguchi asks, and Naomi freezes, dropping the bottle cap unceremoniously on her desk.

Tsukishima raises a brow.

“Y-yeah, why?” she asks, taking a sip of water.

“Well, apparently the team is going to start taking classes there tomorrow morning!”

Naomi chokes on her drink, and Tsukishima finds that traitorous hand passing her a napkin despite himself.

* * *

Naomi can’t help but wonder if she’s stumbled into her own, personal nightmare.

_Karasuno. The team I’m training is Karasuno._

_Kei is going to murder me._

This thought occupies her through the rest of the school day, until she finds herself in dance wear and pointe shoes, going through warmups with her studio company.

The Martha Graham Ballet Studio serves several purposes. By day, it’s a studio which offers beginning and intermediate dance classes, ranging from ballet to jazz to tap. By night, it serves as the rehearsal space for the Martha Graham Ballet Company, a group of semi-professional dancers who put on seasonal shows at the Miyagi Theater of Music and Art. As dance companies go, it’s much less rigorous or formal than most. But that’s mainly to serve the schedules of the members: most of them college students or young adults with other various day jobs. For most in the company, dance isn’t their main occupation.

That’s where Naomi differs.

Dance is her everything. With a famous choreographer for a father, and a late mother who was a world-renown prima ballerina, it’s a wonder Naomi isn’t already enrolled in a conservatory school in Tokyo, dancing day and night and working towards a position in the Tokyo Ballet Company. As it is, after spending a summer doing a 5-week intensive at the Tokyo Metropolitan School of Ballet, she was offered a permanent spot in the school.

But she turned it down. 

While she can’t imagine a life without dance, she also can’t imagine a life away from her childhood home, the only place where she still has memories of her family being together. Even now, living alone with her father overseas for work, the house still echoes with the melodies of happier, warmer days.

Days before her mother’s accident.

“Alright, let’s run that group number from the top!”

For now, this will do. For now, this is enough.

* * *

“Dinner will be ready in thirty minutes. We can work on homework in my room until then,” Kei says, stepping aside to let her into his home.

She slips off her shoes with a practiced ease, tucking them into a spot reserved for them in the shoe cabinet. 

This is not her first, second, or third thousandth time in the Tsukishima household. 

Long before Naomi or Kei were even alive, their mothers met at a small, all-girls school in the Miyagi prefecture, quickly becoming best friends. They graduated high school together, and even while Naomi’s mother went off to start her professional dancing career, the two women managed to keep in contact. 

Their lives maintained a startling parallelism: they were married to their respective partners within a year of each other, and Naomi and Kei were born a mere three weeks apart. There had always been an agreement that their children would grow up close in their hometown, and so they searched for houses in the Miyagi area, eventually settling on homes right next to each other, only a few blocks from where the two women grew up themselves.

The proximity turned out to be a blessing for several reasons: Naomi’s parents would often have to take long business trips for their work, so the Tsukishima family became practically her second household. Likewise, Kei grew up to be a reserved, unsociable child, and Naomi’s cheerful disposition and natural friendliness gave him not only a constant friend, but one who would push him to interact more amicably with their classmates. 

And after the accident, Naomi’s father began to take on more work overseas. Thanks to the Tsukishimas, though, Naomi was never truly left alone. She's somewhat of an honorary member of the family after all these years. (Secretly, Naomi thinks Kei's mom always wanted a daughter, because the woman pampers Naomi to no end.)

Now, she visits the Tsukishima household for dinner or tea or an afternoon of studying on such a frequent basis, she probably spends more time there than in her own house.

“How was practice?” Naomi asks, as they climb the stairs to his bedroom. Slung over her left shoulder is her dance bag, heavy with shoes, ribbons, and various other gear. On her right arm is her school bag, equally heavy with books and paper and stationary.

And people at the studio wonder how she keeps her arms so toned.

“It was fine. Yamaguchi is doing late serving practice again,” Kei shrugs, opening the door to his bedroom. He takes a seat at his desk while she flops down in her usual spot on his carpet, setting aside her dance bag with a heavy sigh of exhaustion. “How was rehearsal?”

Naomi quirks a brow at this. It’s rare of him to inquire about her dance rehearsals.

“It was good. Tiring though, we did a lot of jumps today.”

“And how’s the teaching job at the studio?”

She freezes, dropping the pencil she had taken out for homework, and looks up to find him watching her carefully. As if he’d been waiting for her to react.

“Uh… busy.”

“Right,” he murmurs, quirking a small smirk. “And you’re definitely not hiding anything about that.”

Naomi closes her eyes, prays to Kami-sama for a bit of mercy, and heaves a great sigh.

“About the thing Yamaguchi mentioned. With your team taking classes. There’s something you should know,” she begins, avoiding his gaze by fiddling with her stationary, laying it out in neat rows on his carpet.

Kei turns in his chair to face her more fully, his nose wrinkling.

“What, is the teacher annoying or something?”

Naomi winces before replying.

“Um… I hope not? Because the teacher for your sessions is me?”

A beat.

For a moment, Kei is frozen. His expression is unreadable, but if she had to put a name to it, she’d call it “overloaded”. Like a computer with too much data to process.

And then, it morphs into that wrinkled nose and furrowed brow that she’s come to be familiar with.

“This is the worst,” he mutters, taking off his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose. Naomi’s wince turns into a full-on grimace.

“What were you expecting?” she exclaims. “Obviously you knew I was withholding _some_ piece of information-”

“I thought you were just going to have to help out or something, not that you’d be our _actual instructor_ -”

“I’ll try to keep it tame, I promise! I won’t even employ the terminology packet!” She collapses onto her back, covering her face with her hands. “I knew it was going to be bad just teaching a sports team of high school boys, but I can’t believe it turned out to be _your team_.” she groans.

She hears Kei blow out a sharp breath a few feet away, and then there’s silence for a moment too long. She cracks open an eye and risks a glance in his direction.

He’s staring intently at her left foot, wrapped in stark white.

“What?” she asks.

“How did you destroy your ankle this time?” he asks, and although the words are sharp and biting, his tone isn’t. After all these years, she’s learned to distinguish between his actual irritation and the version he uses to mask things like genuine concern. “New shoes again, stupid?”

She sits up and shakes her head.

“Nah, my tights tore and things started to chafe.”

“You’re bleeding through the bandage,” he murmurs quietly, pointedly not looking her in the eye. “Come here.”

Maybe after all these years, she shouldn’t be surprised by the softness of his voice. Behind closed doors, Kei loses many of his exterior layers, and the boy who lies beneath is more gentle than most people realize.

But there’s still that jump in her chest, the one that happens every time she gets a rare glimpse of that gentleness.

He reaches into a drawer in his desk, pulling out a roll of bandages and some tape before slipping out of his chair and settling on the floor in front of her. Soon, her left foot is resting in his lap as he changes out her wrappings, the movements of his hands fluid with a practiced ease. 

And even after many, many years of him wrapping her worst injuries- from the deep cut in her achilles to the blisters when she started pointe- the cold brush of his fingertips still sends a small tingle down her spine. 

One that she pointedly chooses to ignore. As she has been for many, many years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed the first chapter. I'm new on AO3, so sorry for any formatting weirdness, I'm still learning. Also, updates will be... sporadic. Yeah.


	2. Allegro Giusto

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Allegro" meaning "fast" and "Giusto" meaning "strict".  
> In which the team quickly discovers that ballet is more than tutus and turns.

Tsukishima yawns, groaning at the time. 5:30 am.

Today, he’s going to practice, and then in math-

Practice. Practice is at the dance studio today.

He curses.

This is going to be a terrible day.

* * *

“You’re quiet,” Naomi says to him when they’re seated on the bus together. 

Naomi’s studio is a 15-minute bus ride away: really, they could probably walk and still make it on time, but Naomi had mentioned something about getting there early to “set up the bars”.

“I wasn’t aware that I needed to be talkative,” Tsukishima snipes back, tone flat. Naomi smiles briefly in response, and if the reaction she gave him were from anyone else, it would be startling and unsettling.

But, with them, it has always been this way. For years, Naomi has been privy to his most snippety moments, and his most vulnerable. To both, she has always reacted with an incomprehensible kindness. Where he has been contradictory and inconsistent and riddled with personality twists, she has always been constant and true.

“It’s just that, at this point, I was expecting you to say something snarky about class. Maybe mention how ridiculous this situation is. Make a jab at ballet’s legitimacy as a means of physical training,” she grins.

Tsukishima is not a person who snorts, but if he were, he would now.

“I’ve wrapped too many of your injuries to question the legitimacy of ballet as a means of physical training.”

Naomi breathes a small laugh.

“Touche. Thanks for last night, by the way,” she says.

This sets him on edge. Naomi isn’t the type for needless pleasantries, at least not with him. And he’s been helping her with injuries for years. The only reason she’s even speaking right now is to fill the space, which is uncharacteristic for her. 

When Tsukishima turns to look at her- actually look at her- he’s immediately struck by a sense of wrongness. Naomi’s already ramrod straight back is accompanied by a stiffness her posture doesn’t usually have. And she’s doing that thing where she twists the hem of her skirt in her hands-

_ She’s nervous _ .

Tsukishima has to fight against the shadow of guilt that passes over him before it shows on his face.

“The team is full of idiots,” he says after a moment, and Naomi looks up at him, brows furrowed.

“What?”

“They’re idiots. Some of them have less maturity than the average six year old. If you can handle moody middle schoolers in your Sunday tap class, you can handle the team.”

Tsukishima finds himself regarding his own mouth with the same sort of disdain and mild betrayal as his hand yesterday. Traitors, the lot of them.

Naomi starts to smile, in that way that she does when she’s about to start laughing, when they’re interrupted by the bus stopping momentarily and Yamaguchi climbing on with a too-cheerful “good morning!” for the early hour.

“Yama! Kei was just telling me that the team is full of idiots. Do you concur with this assessment?” Naomi chirps.

Yamaguchi laughs at this, before launching into the multitude of anecdotes supporting Tsukishima’s claim. 

* * *

“Uh… wow, there’s a lot of you.”

Naomi winces at her own awkwardness, shrinking under the stares of an entire boys volleyball team, their coach, advisor, and a manager who Kei and Yama both neglected to mention is _the_ _most beautiful woman ever to grace the earth._

“S-so, you can call me Naomi. I’ll be your ballet fundamentals instructor. I understand that you’re a boys volleyball team, so this might be unusual for you. It’s unusual for me too,” she says. This earns her a few kind-hearted chuckles, as well as the smile of their captain, as if he’s encouraging her to continue. “But in the interest of maintaining much of what is the foundation of ballet, as well as my ability to function as an instructor-” more laughter, more soft smiles “-I’ll start off this class how I often begin my fundamentals classes.

“Ballet is more than dance. It is more than an artform. The component of ballet which makes up much of its foundation, and which many people- dancers and onlookers alike- often overlook is the athleticism necessary to make art. It is about more than beauty: it is about the understanding of every miniscule muscle in the body, and the ability to control each one. That is what this fundamentals class will strive to teach you. Now, before we begin on barre, does anyone have any questions?”

Naomi is surprised in equal parts by the rapt attention she is receiving, and how her nerves seemed to melt away with every word of her Fundamentals Opening Day speech. After being an instructor for so long, it’s become habit for her to begin every new season of classes with that speech, to remind everyone of how hard they will have to work and why.

Now, looking out at these high school boys who share nothing with her except the understanding of a need for diligence and persistence, she feels that maybe they’re not so different after all.

“No questions? Wonderful! Let’s get you all stretched and set at the barre and we’ll begin.”

* * *

Tsukishima comes to a few conclusions within the first ten minutes of barre.

1: Barre is hard.

2: Naomi is the kind of teacher who strikes fear in her students’ hearts with soft smiles followed by strict correction.

3: When she says "stretches" what she really means is "medieval torture".

4: They are all going to die.

As it is, he and Yamaguchi are doing significantly better than the rest of the team, which might give you some idea of how well they’re doing. 

Tsukishima watches as Naomi points across the room, singling out Asahi.

“Remind me your name?” she asks.

“A-Azumane Asahi.”

“Azumane-san, do please straighten your back. And when you plié, make sure your knees go over your feet, we don’t want injuries in this class. It’s okay if your turnout isn’t as open as mine, I’ve been doing this since I was four.”

“Y-yes, Naomi-sensei.”

There are snickers at this, and Daichi reaches over to give a hearty smack across Asahi’s back, causing the ace to stumble out of his first-position. This, of course, does not escape Naomi’s scrutiny.

“Sawamura-san, I understand that your show of physicality with Azumane-san is common during volleyball practice, but this is a ballet studio. Back straight, head tall, arms up, shoulders down, feet turned out, hips checked, and plié whilst refraining from further behavior in my class.”

All of the snickers die away into a deathly silence as the color drains from Daichi’s face.

“Yes, Naomi-sensei.”

Tsukishima finds himself straightening his back despite the reprimand not even being directed at him, and he observes that many of his teammates do the same until the end of their plies.

Naomi claps her hands together, a terrifyingly sweet smile gracing her features.

“Wonderful! Now we can move on to tendus.”

~.~

When class finally comes to a close, the team gathers to sit on the ground for final notes. Tsukishima watches as Ruthless Teacher Naomi quickly melts back into Nervous Normal Naomi, noting the imposing aura around her disappearing as she dons her shy smiles and begins to wring the hem of her purple dance skirt.

“Does anyone have any questions for me? Or concerns? This isn’t my typical class, and I’m open to suggestions,” she says.

To Tsukishima’s surprise, it is Takeda-sensei who cuts in at this point.

“Naomi-san, we really appreciate how open you’ve been to teaching our team. You don’t need to change your instruction style on our account: from what I’ve seen today, this team could benefit from the way that you run your class.”

Tsukishima watches as a blush blooms across her cheeks, and she waves her hand frantically.

“P-please, just Naomi is fine. Outside of class hours, please feel free to drop the -sensei too. Which reminds me, I never did learn what year of school you’re all in.”

The team breaks out into chaotic explanation, before Daichi holds up his hand and starts to point out the team members by year (saving everyone’s eardrums much torment). Naomi’s face grows pale as she learns that Asahi and Daichi are both third years.

“Ah, I’m sorry about earlier, that was disrespectful of me,” she winces.

The two upperclassmen laugh, waving it off.

“Nono, you were fine. Besides, we may be older, but you’re the teacher. It’s your classroom,” Daichi says, with that smile he has that can somehow reassure anyone that everything is going to be fine. Tsukishima would know, he’s watched as Daichi has calmed the other three first years in mere moments with that smile.

A few other members have questions as well- mostly about what to expect from the next class and clarifications on some terminology- before they all pack up and change for school in the studio locker rooms (which are so much nicer than their school locker rooms that Tsukishima almost doesn’t pop a vein when Tanaka and Noya loudly and obnoxiously comment on the difference. Almost.)

It’s when they’re outside that the other shoe drops.

“You’re a  _ Karasuno _ student?!?” Hinata shouts, upon seeing Naomi in her school uniform. The dance instructor- now first-year student like the rest of them- laughs nervously while fiddling with a strand of hair that has come loose from her ballet bun.

“Yeah, I forgot to mention that, didn’t I? I’m in Class 4 with Kei and Yama,” she says, which immediately garners the attention of the rest of the team (much to Tsukishima’s annoyance).

“K-Kei??? You and Tsukishima are friends?” Sugawara asks, eyes blown wide. Tsukishima wrinkles his nose as Yamaguchi pats his shoulder placatingly.

By now, they’re only a few blocks from school. (The studio is much closer to the Karasuno campus than to Tsukishima’s and Naomi’s homes, so it would be ridiculous to take the bus. That said, Tsukishima isn’t sure how many days of walking to school with the entire team pestering him and Naomi he can take. There’s only so much idiocy a person can endure, and he’s already past capacity for the day).

For the sake of his sanity, Tsukishima tunes out the sounds of Naomi and Yamaguchi explaining how and when each of them (Tsukishima included) met the others, slipping his headphones over his ears and praying that he gets hit by a bus so that he can escape this ridiculous situation. After another block, he finds his gaze getting caught on the movement of Naomi’s hands, her smile as she laughs along with his teammates, all while she pulls about fifty hairpins out of that immaculate ballet bun.

_ How does she even fit that many hairpins into her hair? Where do they all go?  _

His olive-gold eyes follow the trail of her ebony hair as it finally comes undone, spilling down her back in lazy waves like a black river that reaches all the way to the small of her back. 

It catches the light in a way hair just normally doesn’t: it’s like even sunlight leans in her direction.

_ Actually, how does she even get all of that hair into one bun? That shouldn’t be physically possible- _

Tsukishima’s foot catches on a crack in the pavement, and he stumbles slightly, regaining his balance in a split second. However, his momentary lapse does not escape the notice of Daichi, who opens his mouth (presumably to ask if Tsukishima is okay), thinks the better of it, and closes it again, instead studying Tsukishima carefully, like Dachi has a question he wants to ask, but knows he shouldn't ask it.

Which he shouldn’t. Tsukishima wouldn’t answer it anyway. As it is, the look on Daichi’s face- as if Tsukishima’s stumble significantly changes the way Daichi sees the middle blocker- is annoying enough.

Just then, Naomi turns back to look at Tsukishima, as if she can sense his spike in irritation. She offers him her smile (a small one. Soft, that one that he’s only ever seen her give to him) before she returns to her conversation with the team, laughing at something that Hinata says.

Maybe he can tolerate walking a few blocks with the team. 

Maybe.


End file.
